Two Years Ago Today (September 12, 2010)

Two years ago today, I knew right away that I'd be going to the hospital. I had just woken up for the day, not feeling any better or less bloated, and took a couple of sips of water to help my cause. About 10 minutes later, I vomited that water up and knew that my days of trying to get through this without serious medical intervention was over. So where would I go? Well, I was vomiting and pooping pretty frequently, so it wasn't like I was game for a drive across town to Cedars or UCLA. Since I lived in Downtown L.A. and had friends who'd gone to Good Samaritan for various reasons (plus that was where my probiotic-prescribing general practitioner practiced), I decided that Good Sam would be the spot. I waddled out of my loft, giving my sweet and concerned dog Winston one last kiss on the head, and was at Urgent Care within about five minutes. They didn't waste any time over at Good Sam. After hearing my symptoms and seeing my bulging belly, I was taken to the ER and given a barium pre-scan drink. I looked at that huge cup of liquid, then at my huge belly, then back at the liquid, and shook my head. I didn't see how it was possible to do what I was medically required to do, but I gave it a shot. Of course, the barium pre-scan drink was vomited up almost as quickly as I drank it down. Still, we went ahead with the scan. The results were good, but confusing. The scan showed no blockage, no tumor, no nothing. I'd be admitted to the hospital to monitor my situation. My ER doc thought that my GI system had stopped because of some meds a doc prescribed a few days earlier and that only time and patience would get me back on track. My illness was still a mystery, but I was finally given something to ease the intense pain in my gut -- a drug called Dilaudid. Oh man. Dilaudid. I'd never taken a painkiller before in my life and holy crap if this wasn't the best painkiller on earth. My pain was gone. I was in bliss. And only then did I look over and nod at Will, who had his phone in hand and was waiting to call my parents and family members to tell them where I was. I knew they'd all be going nuts, but I was too busy in Dilaudid-land to care. Despite all of the puke and adversity, I was already a happy and cooperative patient. Two years ago today, I joined the ranks as a patient at Good Samaritan Hospital. Two years ago today, I had a clear CT scan and an unclear future. Two years ago today, I could never have predicted what the next day -- or the next hour -- had in store for me. But I was optimistic and freakishly calm, as if this was all part of a greater plan that I felt like I'd always sort of known about... Tune in tomorrow for more. I'll be writing "Two Years Ago Today" until my cancer anniversary, a day that I was not expected to live to see, September 19th, 2012.

Two Years Ago Today (September 11, 2010)

Two years ago today, I woke up with a sense of dread. Not for me and my ever-growing belly filled with fluid that seemed to grow by the minute, but because of the date. September 11th. By far and without a doubt, the worst day of my life. I didn't lose anyone I knew in those vicious attacks at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, but I knew that as a nation, we lost our innocence and had our hearts broken. I was a sophomore at Duke at the time, and I certainly lost my innocence and had my heart broken on that day. Regardless of the battle raging on in my body, I took time out to watch 9/11 documentaries and pray for the victims and their families even as I ran back and forth to the bathroom and groaned in pain on my bed. Part of me still believed that I had food poisoning, but deep down, I knew that couldn't be the whole story. My stomach had puffed out beyond all recognition. When I lifted up my shirt in front of the mirror, it looked as if I was nine months pregnant. The mild amounts of vomit I retched up didn't make much progress in un-bloating my belly. I tried to weather the storm, knowing full well that a trip to the ER could be possible. Not today, I thought to myself. I'm going to try to get through this on my own. Will was really the only person who knew how bad things had gotten. My parents were on vacation in Hawaii, a trip they begged me to join. I declined, citing work responsibilities that I was too dedicated to and wrapped up in to abandon even for a week. When the time got closer for their trip, my mom started getting cold feet, worried about my GI issues and thinking that maybe leaving home wasn't such a good idea. A mother's intuition. She was absolutely right given how severely downhill things had gone with me, but I had assured her that all was well. Now, I was exchanging text messages with her, telling her that the probiotics she'd bought me were working like a charm and that I was feeling pretty good. Yes, I was lying. But what choice did I have? I wasn't about to have my parents cut their time in paradise short only to fly home frantically to deal with their puking, pooping daughter. No, no, no. They were going to enjoy their trip and I was going to power through this in one way or another. What was perhaps the most ironic part of my day is that I started watching the Showtime series, The Big C. The series starring Laura Linney that details her battle with Stage IV cancer. Had Laura Linney not been one of my favorite actresses, it probably wouldn't have occurred to me to take up watching the show, but she was, and I did. If you've seen the show, you know that upon receiving her diagnosis and grim prognosis, our lead character Cathy Jamison, pretty much gives up. She goes on a strict diet of cocktails and desserts and refuses to tell her family or friends about the fact that she has late-stage melanoma. Her attitude was resigned and bitter, but the most good-natured version of both (I mean, the show had to be watchable, right?). I remember watching it and being disappointed in her response to her diagnosis. I was engrossed by the show but couldn't help feeling like she needed to fight a whole hell of a lot more than she was. And in that moment, I made a promise to myself. If I was ever to face a foe so formidable, if I was ever to be diagnosed with Stage IV cancer, I would fight. I would never feel sorry for myself, nor would I adopt a bad attitude for a second. I would fight with every fiber in my body. I would fight with my brain, researching the best doctors and diets and everything else under the sun in my attempt to beat the disease hell-bent on beating me. I would fight, and I would have the time of my life while doing it. It was a promise that I'd have to come to terms with sooner than I'd ever imagined. Tune in tomorrow for more. I'll be writing "Two Years Ago Today" from now until my cancer anniversary, a day that I was not expected to live to see, September 19th, 2012.

Two Years Ago Today (September 10, 2010)

It's a chemo day (Round 35 is on deck later this afternoon), but today and over the next week and a half, I'm going to do things a little differently here at the WunderGlo blog. I'm going to post daily with a little feature called "Two Years Ago Today." 

You see, my two year cancer anniversary is right around the corner, and I'd like to commemorate it in a special way on this blog.

September 19th, 2010, was the day I was diagnosed and the day that changed my life forever. September 19th, 2010 could have easily been the worst day of my life, or it could have been the day I was reborn. Reborn into the world of healthy eating and healthy lifestyle choices in general. Reborn into the world of cancer where so many suffer but a world in which I vowed that I would do much more celebrating than suffering. Reborn in attitude, focus, and determination. Reborn and ultimately transformed from Gloria Borges, a great girl in her own right, into WunderGlo, the woman you know so well from the hundreds of entries in this blog. 

September 19, 2010, was not the worst day of my life. It was, in fact, one of the best. It was the day I embraced the biggest challenge of my life, knowing full well that I would triumph in this battle against cancer no matter what the odds or what it was I needed to endure. It was the day I saw my life and my purpose on this earth clearer than ever before. It was the day I became a leader in the fight against cancer -- not only the cancer in my body, but the cancer that harms and demoralizes and devastates so many wonderful people. It was the day that defined the legacy I'd leave on this earth. 

But September 10th, 2010? Not so much. So what was I doing two years ago today?

Two years ago today, I emailed my colleagues at O'Melveny to tell them that I was too sick to work on a brief we'd all been plugging away on, an email that I hated writing. Two years ago today, I was severely bloated, unable to eat food without vomiting it up hours later, and dealing with writhing, acidy pain in my groaning belly. I was in the fetal position on my bed in my loft in Downtown L.A. and watching Expedition Great White on the National Geographic Channel, trying to gain strength and resolve from those beautiful sharks on TV. Two years ago today, I was eating a "Big Stick" popsicle and trying to finish the whole thing despite my lack of appetite and anticipation of an unpleasant bathroom experience to follow.

It was two years ago today that I knew that something was very wrong with me. I had seen a couple of doctors at this point, and both of them suggested I take probiotics to ease my symptoms and get back on the path to wellness. Both of them had severely underestimated what was going on inside of my body. 

Two years ago today, I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I thought that maybe I'd gotten food poisoning from the suspect Chinese food I'd ordered takeout from, but knew that that couldn't actually explain the symptoms that had been bothering me for months. Two years ago today, I foolishly thought that I could ride out my symptoms, barrel through this rough patch, and go on with my life without much regard for the body that was, in fact, struggling to survive. 

Two years ago today, I had no idea about cancer or surgery or chemo or Dr. Lenz or WunderGlo. 

Crazy. 

Tune in tomorrow for more. I'll be writing "Two Years Ago Today" from now until my cancer anniversary, a day that I was not expected to live to see, September 19th, 2012.

Chemo Round 34

You know the drill on a chemo Monday by now. I get up, amped and ready to rock, hit the gym, head to Norris, hang out with Lenz, and start infusion time. After a solid basketball workout, I got ready and actually got to Norris early for once. Of course, this would be the one time that Dr. Lenz was running late, but it was all good: my buddy Annette was at Norris getting chemo, so we got to catch up while we waited. One of the greatest things about my diagnosis and my cancer-killing adventures has been meeting people like Annette, fellow patients who inspire me with their toughness and are awesome friends, too. I used to think that I was reaching capacity in terms of friends, but now I know that the number of friends that I should shoot for is unlimited. Why not, right?

Chilling out with my boy Lenz was great, as usual. My tumor markers dropped and we're still ridiculously close to that cancer-free number, so I just gotta keep chuggin' along which is my specialty. I made it a point to ask Lenz about how the rest of my blood work looked since I'm adamant about keeping my body as healthy and strong as possible. I'm focused on killing cancer but I'm also equally concerned about how all of my organs are functioning and how my whole body is doing.

His answer: "perfect."  

I wasn't too surprised given how great I feel, but it was still good to hear. I'm glad that I'm doing right by my body these days after all those years of not treating it as I should have. I know that some patients get offended or defensive when talking/asked about whether they "caused" the onset of their disease. It's not a singular issue of "what caused it" -- cancer is complex and so is its incidence in each individual -- but I do think there is a benefit in examining what I did before my diagnosis and considering how my behavior/choices contributed to the onset and the progression of my disease. I don't blame myself, but I do own up to the unhealthy things I used to do so that I can make sure that I never do that stuff again. You know the usual suspects: diet, fitness, stress management, sleep. All the stuff I used to suck at, and all the stuff I rock at these days. Old dogs can learn new tricks, especially when the threat of being put to sleep is a real one.

Back to chemo. As it has been for the last several rounds, it went extremely smoothly. I slept well, stayed hydrated, and tried my best to stay out of the crazy heat that gripped all of L.A. last week. I'm not sure if I've shared this on the blog, but there is pretty much nothing more uncomfortable than dealing with chemo when it's hot outside. Think about it -- what do you do when you want to beat the heat? Maybe jump in the pool or take a shower? Maybe just have someone turn the hose on you (or turn it on yourself)? None of those options are viable options when you're lugging the bag o' chemo around with that pesky needle in your chest. Trust me, though, the moment I detach, I turn the hose on myself.

Just like last Chemo Wednesday, I capped off the night with a concert. Instead of Nicki Minaj, it was Herbie Hancock at the Hollywood Bowl. It was a relaxing and inspiring show, and I was with some of my best buddies, which always makes a good time even better. By Thursday, I was back at the office and at the gym. And now, I'm in Vegas...soaking up Labor Day weekend with some non-alcoholic beverages and high hopes of hitting the jackpot.

The truth is, I already have.

The World of WunderGlo

You know I'm always up to something. That darn WunderGlo just doesn't stay still! And this week I've earned another week off chemo because of O'Melveny recruiting adventures at Stanford Law School, so I'm really running wild. Chemo is pretty much the leash that keeps me more or less contained, so when it exits my system for good like it has now, forget about it. I'm off to the races. Meanwhile, the little bits of cancer in my body continues to get pummeled with green juice, green smoothies, and serious sessions at the gym. I feel incredible and I give thanks for that every day and every second of every day.

Ok, time for an update.

Many of you know what events/projects I'm working on through Facebook, direct emails, Twitter, and other forms of talking to me like the telephone and good old fashioned face-to-face chit-chat. For those of you who don't know what I've been plotting (or want a refresher), here's your inside look.

1) Fundraising for my t-shirt line, 12 Rounds for the Cancer Warrior

As you know, I wear a different t-shirt to my chemo sessions and always have. I always take a picture of myself in my chemo tee, send it to friends and family before treatment, and post the picture in my "Chemo Round [whatever]" recaps on this blog. The shirt is my uniform for the day, the article of clothing that acts as a reminder to me of my kick-ass status as a cancer-killing beast. The shirt inspires me and makes me feel tougher than I already feel naturally (which is really tough). In hopes of instilling that same kind of swagger in my fellow patients, I launched a t-shirt line, 12 Rounds for the Cancer Warrior, with my good friend and t-shirt entrepreneur extraordinaire, Vinnie. We've printed out four of our shirts so far and plan to pitch our product to hospitals around L.A., then California, and then throughout the country, but first, we need a little bit of capital. So we took to Indiegogo.com, a site that allows for crowd-sourced funding of various projects, and got our story and product out there. 

The response has been incredible. Friends, family, and complete strangers have contributed. We only have 6 days left in our campaign, but we only need under $1,000 to hit our ambitious goal of $10,000. Everyone who has contributed has touched our hearts and made us feel great about what we're trying to do with our shirts. You still have time to join in on the fun, too. Our fundraising page can be found here: www.indiegogo.com/12rounds.

What we're doing with 12 Rounds is just one prong of my larger attempt to help cancer patients feel more empowered and positive about their individual challenges with the disease. Cancer isn't easy for any of us, but positive thinking can get us far. Trust me, when the chips were down for me -- way, way down -- I never, ever let up in my confident approach. I would never let cancer see fear in me, and because of that, I didn't have any fear in me. These t-shirts are just a representation of that fearlessness and courage that I hope everyone can find within themselves. (And people without cancer can wear our shirts, too. Not all of them are explicitly about cancer.)

So that's the t-shirt project.

2) The book.

I've finished Chapter Numero Uno of my book, and it's going pretty well. Some of my friends are acting as would-be editors and I look forward to their feedback (no pressure to hurry up and get back to me, guys (wink wink)). I am planning 13 chapters for the book, so if you don't count editing and revising and editing and revising, I'm 1/13th done with my book. Woo hoo! 

3) The WunderGlo Foundation Anniversary Party: Saturday, September 15th

The WunderGlo Foundation is one year old, and we need to celebrate, clearly. So I rented a yacht in Newport Beach and we're going to set sail for four hours on the afternoon/early evening of Saturday, September 15th. This also marks my 2 year cancer anniversary (officially on Sept 19), so it's a double celebration. We have about 30 or so spots available on the yacht and you are invited. Admission on our glorious vessel is $75, which gets you plenty of food, an open bar, and four hours of boat awesomeness. You can reserve your spot by making your donation here: www.wunderglofoundation.org/events 

4) The WunderGlo Foundation in D.C. - the Crush Colon Cancer Reception: Friday, September 21st

The WunderGlo Foundation is coming to D.C. for an awesome evening reception. Just like we did in San Francisco, we're hosting a free event to spread the word about who we are and what we're doing. We're also hosting an online silent auction prior to the event which will be launched in the next day or so (the auction items will be at our D.C. event for pick-up). Of course, my beloved O'Melveny & Myers has stepped up to the plate bigtime, and the event will be at our DC office which is just blocks from the White House. Seriously, O'Melveny is the greatest. Best lawyers and best people -- jeez. Anyway, all of my DC/MD/VA people (call the area "DMV" if you want to be cool), secure your spot at our event here: http://crushcoloncancer.eventbrite.com/

5) The WunderGlo Foundation in New York City -- the Beat Colon Cancer Reception and Live Auction: Saturday, September 22nd

The day after our DC event, we'll be in NYC. Yes, we're driving from Our Nation's Capital to The City That Never Sleeps (aptly named in this case) immediately after our Friday event, which ends at 10pm. This party is going to be ridiculous. At O'Melveny's New York office overlooking Times Square, we're going to have an amazing live auction hosted by none other than my classmate from Duke and rising star in the auctioneering world, ck swett. This little newspaper called the New York Times recently profiled him. The New York event is going to be incredible and my NY/NJ peeps can get their free tickets here: http://wunderglonyc.eventbrite.com/

T-shirts, book-writing, a boat party, and a fun-filled trip to the East Coast. Add in some lawyering and DJing and you've got my life in a nutshell. Oh, and killing cancer, too. My life is filled to the brim with everything I love, and to think that I wasn't supposed to live this long. So much for that prognosis. So much for cancer taking over. It's only given me more ways and reasons to explore life. It's only given me more ways and reasons to celebrate.